Weep no more
by AtomicNinja8
Summary: A year after Sherlock's death John is depressed and in need of closure. In the night he is visited by the angel of his love to give him the closure to carry on. (Based off a song Weep No More.) Mild Johnlock. ONESHOT


WEEP NO MORE

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, the show on BBC or any of the Original works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

In this story Sherlock is dead. (For real, no clever tricks.)

This story was inspired by the beautiful choral piece "Weep no more" Written by David N Childs.

I recommend you listen to this song while reading.

Here is a link: watch?v=gJvTg6CUg10

One year, 365 days, 8765 hours, 525949 minutes…

And yet the pain wrenched in his soul is still as fresh as if he had just witnessed the death of his best friend.

John Watson sighed as he started out the window of his flat 221B.

Delicate droplets of rain pitter-pattered against the glass. It had been raining since noon and the sky didn't appear to be clearing up any time soon. John decided it would be best to spend the evening inside, where was he supposed to go anyway… ever since the tragic death of his best friend Sherlock Holmes, depression had set into his life. He no longer had the desire to see the world. To converse with people, he had stopped eating and had lost many hours of sleep. The shock of Sherlock's suicide had taken a toll on the ex-Army Doctor.

John leaned back in his chair and stared at the clock, it was 23:00.

Haven not eaten all day John was exhausted, mentally and physically. Slowly he stood and retreated to his bathroom. John prepared himself for bed, staring in the mirror, his face was pale, his eyes and cheeks sunken in. Part of him wanted to smash the mirror, to avert his eyes and never have to look at his face again. He also had a sudden desire to cry, his eyes burned but not a tear escaped. Without a word spoken the man left the bathroom. He walked down the empty hall. Silent and bleak the once vibrate flat was now a distressed black and white photo, full of memories of what once was but will never be again. John slid into bed and flicked the light off; darkness instantly surrounded him, only causing his eyes to burn more. He spread his arms out on either side of him, his knuckled cracked as he spread his boney, dry fingers. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness John relaxed a bit more. It was around this time each evening John's thoughts would collect, the progression of his thoughts never ended, his mind would bring up new topics until he drifted off to sleep. But tonight he could not think of anything other then the events, which took place but a year ago.

John felt as though he had been taken back to that day….

"It's all true…everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

John could still hear Sherlock's voice echo in his head….

"I'm a fake."

John stared off into the darkness, his eyes burning and his heart hurting. He still refused to believe Sherlock was a fake…the others may, but they didn't know Sherlock like John did.

Sherlock was….was his best friend.

"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they, leave a note?"

A tear escaped from John's eye and streaked down his cheek. His vision had become blurred and his eyes burned as he blinked.

He wished the darkness would consume him, take him from this world. He no longer had a desire to live, he could not live in a world where the person he loved was despised…was dead…was gone. Silently he wept as two final words echoed through his mind…

"Goodbye John…"

John opened his cracked lips and whispered two words into the night air…"Goodbye Sherlock."

Night after night, John had prayed for a miracle, but when the reality set in that a miracle would not be given he prayed for closure, John soon realized that even this he would be denied…he now prayed for death.

John's eyelids began to grow heavy and droop, he allowed them to close and lay for a few moments in peace. Suddenly…there was a light.

Slowly John opened his eyes, he did not move, he did not breath. His ears filled with a soft un-known melody.

He was not alarmed; he still remained laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He tried to move, but his body would not allow him to, his ceiling was a mixture of colors, warm yellows and bright vivid white, dashed of dark violet lined the corners. Then out of the center of his ceiling a small, round glowing white orb emerged. Brilliantly it fluttered around the room, dancing and gliding along with the melody. It paused, hovering by the door the orb transformed. A pair of dark black yet beautiful wings appeared and with them a figure.

Tall and thin with chaotic, ebony curls. The figure was wearing white pants with a white button up dress shirt. The sleeves rolled up to his forearm. John stared longingly at the figure; he did not move, nor blink nor breath. He only wept silently, for the figure was Sherlock.

The angel started at John, a slight smile on his face. He sang in a deep voice, "Weep no more, oh weep no more, oh weep no more."

Never had Sherlock sung before, the only music John had heard from Sherlock was that which he played on his violin. Sherlock refused to sing. But his voice was that on an angel's.

John was paralyzed as the angel approached him,

"Weep no more, oh weep no more, oh weep no more." Sherlock's voice echoed in as if there were two people singing. Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed and took John's hand in his own.

"Dry your eyes, oh dry your eyes…for I was taught in paradise."

He pulled John into a sitting position; gently he placed a hand on his cheek and wiped away the tears. "Dry your eyes, oh dry you eyes…for I was taught in paradise." His voice echoed once more. "To ease, my breast of melodies." Majestically his voice harmonized. "To ease, my breast of melodies."

The song was melodic, enchanting and beautiful. Sherlock placed both hands on John's face and leaned their fore heads against each other.

"Weep no more, ho weep no more, oh weep no more."

Sherlock stared into John's eyes, "Weep no more, oh weep no more, oh weep no more."

He pulled John into a hug, wrapping his long arms around the Doctor.

"Weep no more, oh weep no more, oh weep no more."

Sherlock then whispered into his ear, "Weep for me no more."

Before gently placing a kiss on John's lips. John closed his eyes the music slowly fading away as the light grew dimmer.

When John opened his eyes, he was laying in bed, in his room. The morning light peeking threw the curtains. John sat up and rubbed his eyes, reminiscing on the events that had taken place last night.

Whether or not it had been a dream John was content.

He slipped out of bed and searched for a piece of paper and a pen.

Once he contained these items he wrote, _**Oh my dearest, my love, though we are worlds apart our souls are bound. My love for you shall go on, even when our lives shall not.**_

John smiled at the parchment and placed it on his heart, "Weep no more." He whispered. "I'm sorry Sherlock but I do not make promises I cannot keep." He said as a tear descended down his cheek.


End file.
